


At Death's Door

by RagingBookDragon



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Father-Son Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Male My Unit | Byleth, Parent Death, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:13:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23180737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RagingBookDragon/pseuds/RagingBookDragon
Summary: His feet won't move for a split second, and in that minute instance, he realizes that he wasn’t able to stop the worst from happening. Jeralt is falling, knees buckling beneath him as he drops to the ground, and Byleth can’t even hear the words the new enemy is saying to Monica, because everything in his hearing is white noise.
Kudos: 28





	At Death's Door

**Author's Note:**

> I legit had no idea of a summary for this so I just put the first sentences of the story lol. But I recently got FE3H and I love it. So here's my take on the very underplayed scene. I hope you enjoy! -Thorne <3

His feet won't move for a split second, and in that minute instance, he realizes that he wasn’t able to stop the worst from happening. Jeralt is falling, knees buckling beneath him as he drops to the ground, and Byleth can’t even hear the words the new enemy is saying to Monica, because everything in his hearing is white noise.

The two disappear in a flash of dark magic and it’s only when Jeralt’s torso hits the flat land that Byleth can finally move his feet. The Sword of The Creator falls from his grasp but at this point he doesn’t care, feet slapping against the earth as he sprints to his father. His legs ache as he drops, sliding until his fingers can grasp at the pauldron, and pull him around. Jeralt lets out a groan, and it’s one Byleth has heard too many times in his life, the groan of a soldier who’s in his last moments. His father’s face scrunches a moment then brown eyes are opening, meeting periwinkle, and Jeralt is offering the young man a sad smile. “I’m sorry Byleth…it looks…it looks like I’m gonna have to leave you now…” His son can’t bring himself to speak, the lump in his throat growing with each passing moment, but what he can bring himself to do is try to save the only family he’s got. It takes him a second to pull the glove from his hand, and then he’s holding it over Jeralt’s side, trying to pull the magic to his fingers. The magic forms under his palm, hot and burning, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t will the spell into creation. He snaps sharply, casting the magic away to try again, but after the third try, cool metal-gauntleted fingers wrap around his hand, squeezing tightly. “White magic…has never been your…strong suit…you can’t do it…” The words sting like a poisoned blade, and he shifts his gaze from Jeralt’s torso to his eyes and chokes out,

“I can save you.” His father’s grip tightens once more before he lets go, reaching up to brush something from under Byleth’s eye. Jeralt lets out a weak chuckle and returns,

“To think that the first time…I saw you cry…your tears would be for me…” His eyes slowly shut, and the hand that wiped the first tear begins to fall, until Byleth catches it, curling his fingers into his father’s palm. “It’s sad…and yet…I’m happy about it…” Jeralt lets out a shuddering breath, and his head slowly lowers back as he manages the last words his child will ever hear. “…I love you son…”

The rain is cold as it comes down on them, and though it’s pouring, they’re still able to see what’s around them. Dimitri and Dedue had taken point, weapons still drawn in case something else decided to attack them. The rest of them had taken up positions within their group to suit their abilities, Ashe, Mercedes, and Annette in the middle, Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix at the back. “I swear the professor and Captain Jeralt walked off this way, Your Highness.” Ashe’s normally quiet voice was damn near silent, and Dimitri had to strain to hear it, but he did. He nodded as they turned the corner, two dark figures coming into view a ways across the courtyard.

Dimitri’s grip on his lance loosens as the professor comes into view, but it immediately tightens when he sees his usually ‘composed’ professor hunched over the older man’s body, sobs wracking his chest as he holds tight to Jeralt. When the group finally gets close enough to see, the shock that goes through them all seems to stop them dead in their tracks. Barely any of them can form words beyond a mixture of, ‘Oh Goddess, Oh Shit, and Oh Professor’. Dedue’s hand rests firmly on Dimitri’s shoulder, and it doesn’t take a genius to know what the older boy is thinking; the young prince gently shakes off his friend’s hand, moving towards the sobbing man, heart twisting painfully at the all too familiar scene. He kneels beside Byleth and softly places a hand along his back, his words quiet. “Professor…I know what you’re experiencing right now has no comparison, but we need to get back to the Monastery.” When the man doesn’t respond, Dimitri wonders if he’d heard him, but opts to repeat himself despite the fact. “Professor… we-”

“I couldn’t save him.” The boy’s words are cut short by Byleth’s admittance, and the prince sighs heavily, nodding his head.

“I know.” Byleth shifts, gaze turning to Dimitri’s and it’s a shock to the royal as he sees the bloodshot and teary-eyed expression morph into one of self-loathing.

“I couldn’t save my own father.” It takes the young prince a moment to gather the words, something that would offer understanding, but at the same time wouldn’t change the feelings his professor had.

“We can’t save them all, Professor.” He tugs lightly at Byleth’s arm and urges, “Come now Professor, we need to return to Garreg Mach.” The young man jerks, shaking his head.

“I can’t leave him here.” And Dimitri nods, glancing back at Dedue and the others, and waves them forward.

“Sylvain, Felix, Dedue, and I will get Captain Jeralt’s body ready for the transport back…go with Mercedes and the others, Professor. They will keep you company.” It takes a moment to move, but Byleth nods, letting go, albeit shaking, of his father’s body, rising on weak knees to stumble towards the other half of his students. They offer him sympathetic looks, and Mercedes, in tears at this point, throws her arms around the young man, squeezing him tight.

The group begins to depart, save for the young men who are busy building a makeshift pull to lay Jeralt’s body across, and no words are shared between them until the honored Captain is resting atop the pull. Sylvain pats the horse’s side gently, and the second group departs, slowly trudging their way back through the mud to the Monastery.

By the time they arrive, word has already spread through the castle, and the group stands in awe at the knights lining the bridge, the students themselves standing along with them. Rhea and Seteth stand at the entrance, Byleth beside them, a sorrowed look on his face. A group of knights comes to where Jeralt is, and gently move him onto the stretcher, carrying him past everyone. It’s a sight Dimitri loathes seeing, and a low voice murmurs, “Are you alright, Your Highness?” His gaze shifts to Dedue who is watching with a piercing look in his eyes, and he replies,

“No Dedue…I am not.” At that, the older boy nods and asks,

“Does this remind you of your family?” The man had always had a taciturn way of putting things, and even though he knew Dedue meant well, the words still made his chest ache.

“Yes…it does.” Baby blue’s shifted to the form of their professor, walking until he met the group of knights, to walk beside them, and he added, “The ones we love most are always at death’s door…and we are helpless to save them.” He knows the older boy won’t disagree with him, and so they simply make their way across the bridge, thunder rumbling the darkened skies as rain falls from the heavens.


End file.
